I know a lot of Dads, but I never really truly knew mine.

He was there, yes, and yet, he wasn't.

I certainly didn't know that as a boy. As children, all we know is our folks are our folks and they must certainly represent the entire world. Remember when you met a friend's parents, especially in their own home? They were alien... something was odd... they weren't right... they weren't identical to YOUR parents. It was disconcerting.

Parents hide parts of themselves and their histories from their children. Some of it is due to concerns about raising the kids and hoping for new, improved versions of Family, but some is the simple, dark feeling of shame... their shame for certain acts, behaviors, habits, and beliefs wounding periods of their lives, and, later comes your shame for not measuring up to what you fantasized you thought you wanted from them. You are not who you wished they were.

I haven't been a bio-parent, and was only an in-house step-parent for a short, difficult time. None of us were prepared for it. None the less, I think I've served as a pretty good god-father, step-uncle, and step-grandpa. I see myself as fully-fledged in those roles. I hope the "kids" (many now adults) do too. Whether they understand it or not, my step-daughters included, I stand with them now just as I always have. I love them.

My Dad "stood BY us", but I can't say stood WITH us. He was detached and elusive. He existed in the same house, had "his" favorite chair and his routines, but I can count on one hand the moments that seemed real and representative of a man who lived his own reality before and during our days as his kids. He said "I love you" ONCE to each my brother and I, and, for me, this was from a hospital bed, over the phone, across the country, when, though I did not know it, he knew he was soon to die. I was 35.

As the years pass, I've gained insights about him and parts of his life, but he died at age 61 in 1985 - which caused discoveries to quickly come to an end. My Mom's mind is slipping away, so she's not much of source for even a slanted point-of-view (but I give her credit for NOT being one of those people through their divorce phase - in fact she's the only one I have known who wasn't).

My Dad was the child victim of boozing parents who cracked under the weaknesses of their personalities and the pressures of the Great Depression. HIS Dad vanished, leaving him and his younger brother to their Mom. His "father" wasn't found until his death 30 years later. THAT is not a "reunion". Dad didn't talk about that either. His Mom was a tough bird, who drank, smoke, cussed, laughed... but Grandma loved my brother and I. The other side of the family would not associate with her. It seems to have been, in part, a "class" division, and, the more valid fear some of her behaviors might bring harm to us children. I suspect she made some of her food money during the Depression by taking in men for an hour. There are other vague stories about rumored incidents that could've ended tragically...
Ssshhhh.

It's NEVER good to leave children in dark closets.

They'll find their own torch - and light it themselves - if you don't give them the right candle.

Between Dad's illusive parents, the Great Depression, and World War II (which was just one more subject left unanswered for me), he was a man who voluntarily supplied very little perspective for his boys. And, though we picture children as perpetually curious - especially about the Powerful Parents - we children are also very accepting of their personalities as THE representatives for all of humankind... so why ask? The truth is in front of us! They are who they seem to be. They are DADDY and MOMMY.

Dad DID talk... about his troublesome cars (he refused to buy foreign), the weather, and what was on tee vee. A visit to Dad's apartment (after the divorce) was good for an hour or so before we all ran out of luke warm steam.

He seemed to enjoy hearing about what my Brother and I were doing: college life, art, awards, who we'd met, that sort of stuff. He'd wanted to be "an artist when he grew up", and I believe he lived that out through me, and within a shorter period of time, my Brother. Dad could have followed that dream - used the G.I. Bill and gone to college - but he, like every other American soldier who had somehow survived the war, was in a rush to marry, buy a home and a car, and start having babies. BOOM!

I think I understand some of that vision. I'll try to speak for him: "Life is short and fragile. It is time to create more than a painting, and let our babies start living in this world we won at such high costs."

I regret not "Knowing" him. Surely he knew much more about me. I had fewer scars, less shame, a heightened sense of self-determination and single-minded goals. His first 20 years were mostly Hell. Mine were much easier. My folks made my first twenty as close to their version of "Heaven" as they could imagine and concoct.

Dad drove away in the morning, came home at night, paid the bills, and took care of the outside of the house and yard. Mom raised the boys, cleaned the inside of the house, and cooked the food. At the time when we needed them the most, we were suddenly uprooted from our Home (meaning everything and everyone we loved - forced to leave it and them behind), and they took us to a strange land. Then, they both went off to work... which only escalated every dark scenario to rise from our latch-key teen years. They were out of touch with us, whereas they thought we were doing okay - that we'd be fine flying solo for the day and some of the evenings.

They needed the money and this is what they felt they had to do. Much of that money was aimed at us for upcoming college years. I'm not here to condemn them for being absent. If anything, it was a loving, hard-working parental act, and Mom forfeited that which she received by being a stay-at-home Mother. I now understand why they were both shocked, and Mom quite upset, when I called them from college with my decision that their financial help was hurting my growth as an adult and an artist. I told them "Thank you, but please, no more." Mom cried. Dad, well, he was quiet as usual, but I think he saw it in male terms - and had a more accepting view of this "rejection".

I have to admit, here, and for the first time, that even though I, by my own choice, was dirt poor in through college - for years often scared to the point of panic about surviving from week to week, yet remaining dedicated to maturing as much and as fast as possible - I called them a couple times to ask for a few bucks, so they could feel helpful again. It helped alleviate their worries over me.

I began to appreciate their side of things.

In the oddest, whiplash, backdoor sort of way, I learned much of this because of my Dad.

Happy Father, Step-Father, Father-Figure, Older-Adult, Male-Mentor Day to everyone who deserves it.

Ronn.